The Best of Both Worlds
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: Olivia contemplates her life without John. This takes place sometime during the “The Same Old Story” S1E02 episode.


**The Best of Both Worlds**

Fringe doesn't belong to me. I'm just playing with the characters and I promise I will put them back in their box as soon as I'm finished.

Note: this takes place sometime during the "The Same Old Story" 102 episode.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She could not sleep.

Since John Scott died, she could not sleep.

When she managed to get a few hours of restless sleep, she was unable to sink into oblivion. Her dreams were filled with fake happy memories, all the memories that were ultimately unhappy ones now that she knew that John had been unworthy of her trust all along. It left her only with bitter thoughts and prospects of an even more bitter and hopeless future. At this point, she was questioning not only her bad personal judgement but her professional expertise.

It had been a tremendous blow to her self-esteem. She simply could not let go. No matter what she theorized, it was coming down to one thing. She would not accept she had been played. Did he betray her from day one? Was there a day, an hour, a single minute when he was not actually lying to her, manipulating her, using her? Who was he working for and possibly with? Was he a double, triple agent? How can someone become a mole was beyond her comprehension.

She rapidly discovered that working on the John Scott case was not only therapeutic but soothing. It helped her fight her own exhaustion. She had to cope with thrusts of denial and moreover get rid of the uncomfortable realization that she had been a pawn. She was aware she would have to attend counselling eventually though she doubted not only its value but its practicality. Work immersion was a far better way for her to move on. As a dedicated workaholic, she found her new assignment perfectly fitting.

But in the end, it was merely not enough to wash her from her guilt and her embarrassment. She was now walking into the world with a stigma attached and the continuing feeling of having been permanently stained. And though she acted numb and bossy, she was experiencing a rage she did not know she possessed.

"Hello?" she said softly at the first ring of her phone.

"Wake up--there's something you need to see."

Agent Phillip Broyles was seemingly as efficient and unsympathetic as ever. His by the book attitude was taking a toll on her nerves and she could not shake the feeling that there was more to it than a mere antagonizing flair. She welcomed the early call which allowed getting her hands away from John's files and bringing her some action --at least for a while. She braced herself against his possible rebuke. Broyles was not the last of his kind and she had already had to put up with numerous gender-biased agents.

"Well, waking up's not gonna be a problem, but thank you for the gentle nudge," she said, matching his contemptuous tone.

He did not acknowledge her caustic remark. "Pick up the others and meet me in 30 minutes at the Bromley Medical Center," he said matter-of-factly before hanging up on her.

"Ah, good morning to you too," she whispered and called Peter's cell.

In the wake of her ordeal, Peter Bishop was a refreshing replacement to her former partner. As far as she was concerned, he was not a partner per se, and that means she was free to organize her work anyway she pleases with the help of a brilliant assistant who was not prone to critic or uselessly judgmental. She barely knew him but her guts told her that he was not the kind of man that John was. Despite his obvious flaws and his continuing involvement into barely legal business all over the world, she sensed that she could trust him. There was something about him. Something she was actually finding hard to describe, so alien to her world of make believes.

And he had THAT way with his father. More than compassion, there were a kindness, a softness and a quietness to him she rarely witnessed in her line of work. So to make a long story short, he had the brain of a genius and the mind of a child, the best of both worlds.

She put on an extra sweater, grabbed a wool scarf and her coat and rushed outside to her car, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Peter was not picking up. She adjusted her Bluetooth headset and speed dialled him again. She started the car and pulled away in a spurt of dirty rain water.

He was probably asleep. He told her that he was having trouble to find his sleep too. Not that he was worried or insomniac but his father was keeping him up till the wee hours with some eccentric gimmicks of his own and his nocturnal fears.

When she parked in front of their hotel, she almost lost control of her car. The SUV slid uncontrollably for a couple of feet despite the anti-lock skid and she let go of the brakes waiting for the car to stop on its own. Watching the hotel entrance getting dangerously near, she barely flinched. The car finally stopped moving; she pulled on the parking brake and sprang out of the car.

She hurried to the elevator and punched the button. She stared at the flicking indicators, bit her lower lip and decided against waiting, taking the stairs four at a time instead. She reached the seventh floor in record time and rapped on the door. Her breathing was deep and rapid but even. She smiled when it came to her that she was actually looking forward to seeing Peter. She was on the verge of knocking louder to wake Peter up when she heard a muffled voice inside the room and the sound of footsteps coming towards the door. He opened without bothering to ask who the intrusive guest was. She watched him intently, moved by his rumpled look and inquisitive gaze. He was in his boxer shorts, draped inside a white sheet and disturbed by the unwanted light. He stared at her, his sleepy eyes blinking in defiance. She suppressed a smile.

"You're kiddin' me, right?" he snapped, obviously resisting the urge to slam the door in her face.

"Your phone was off the hook," she teased him.

At this time of night – or day, he was not alert enough to catch on her mood. "That's 'cause I didn't want to get woken up."

As much as she would have relished this situation to be different and go on with the easy banter, she was on a mission. "You need to get your father. Apparently there's something we need to see."

"And this something…" he asked with a smirk.

"… it can't wait," she nodded.

He smiled with the gentlest expression on his face. "Okay," he said, turning his back to her and calling his father. "Walter… Walter?"

He closed the door behind him. She heard the click of the latch and waited in the darkness and quiet of the hotel lobby for the father and son to get ready. For the first time since John's death, she felt she could quench her fears and be able to give trust again.


End file.
